


Always

by juxtapose



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: F/M, Future Fic, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-11
Updated: 2012-01-11
Packaged: 2017-10-29 08:40:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/317905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/juxtapose/pseuds/juxtapose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Little Gwydre makes a visit to his his good friend Merlin up in the sorcerer's tower, to hear his favorite story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Always

**Author's Note:**

> Here's a bit of nerdy info for those of you who aren't familiar with legend. In a few versions of King Arthur's story, Arthur is said to have had at least one son. (In most stories, there's just Mordred, but according to _Merlin_ 's adaptation they've obviously changed that.) Here I'll be writing for Gwydre of Welsh adaptations, since he's talked about the least in legend and therefore I can do a lot with him. I've come up with my own little reality for him. Enjoy. Or not; that's cool too.

It's a quiet afternoon, comfortable silence reverberating against castle walls that seem to stretch for miles. It's interrupted, though, by the pitter-patter-clack of shoes on marble floor, shuffling down the hallway before skidding to a stop in front of a stairwell in the east wing.

The boy looks up, eyes alight, ready to begin the adventure that's always the same but somehow--magically--different each time. He takes one step up. Then another. And another, until he's practically bouncing up the winding, never-ending stairway.

It gets darker and darker as he goes, but the boy doesn't mind. Once he reaches his destination, he thinks, he'll be just fine.

Sure enough, he stops abruptly as a wooden door stares down at him. The boy raps his fist against it, hopping on his toes in anticipation.

The door swings open, and standing before him in a dark brown cloak is the Magic Man, with the bright blue eyes and the jet black hair and a whimsical smile tickling his lips.

"Merlin!" says the boy.

Merlin laughs heartily and crosses his arms in front of his chest. "Gwydre," he replies, mock-chastising, "I suspect your mother doesn't know you're here."

"She won't mind!" Gwydre insists, pouting, "I've just been training with Father. He's teaching me to spar! I've got lots of time 'til dinner, and I haven't been to visit in a _long_ time--"

"Hmm." Merlin strokes his chin, frowning. "And the magic word would be . . . ?"

"Please," Gwydre finishes, "Pleasepleasepleaseplease--"

"All right," Merlin laughs again, stepping aside, "Come in. But let's make sure you're not late for dinner again. Her Majesty didn't like that so much last time."

Merlin watches affectionately as Gwydre runs into the room, grinning in wonder at all the bottles of potions and sprawled-out parchment full of enchantments. Watching his expression, eyes wide with awe only a child can possess, is something magical in and of itself.

"What's this do?" Gwydre jumps up and down, pointing at a purple liquid.

"This?" Merlin strolls over to the bottle casually and picks it up. "It gives anyone who drinks it . . . " Pause for dramatic effect. "The face of a pig and the wings of a _bat_!"

Gwydre howls with laughter, pointing at Merlin accusingly. "No, it _doesn't_ ," he counters.

Merlin chuckles, sitting down at his very messy desk. "No," he agrees, "it doesn't. But it would be funny if it did, wouldn't it?"

Gwydre gives him a look, and Merlin knows that look; he's known Gwydre for all seven years of his life and he _knows_ that look. In his hazel stare lies the same fierce determination Merlin sees in the boy's father day after day. "All right," he says with a sigh, "What do you wish for?"

"A sword," Gwydre says, enthusiasm practically tumbling from his every syllable, "A sword, just like Father's!"

Merlin pauses, a small smile on his lips. "Well," he says, "I'm not sure I can get you one _exactly_ like the King's. But . . . let's see what I can come up with."

Merlin closes his eyes and extends his hands in front of him, palms up. Gwydre can just hear the words, the strange and beautiful-sounding words Merlin mumbles under his breath with confidence just as strong as any of Father's brave knights. When Merlin opens his eyes again--and this is Gwydre's favorite part--the blue of his gaze flickers gold for just a moment, so fleeting of a moment that Gwydre's had to train himself to recognize it.

And suddenly in his hands is a small wooden sword, embellished in brightly colored shades of ink that seem to glow in the light.

Gwydre claps excitedly, snatching the sword from Merlin's hands. "Thank you, Merlin!" He swings it about, showing off his newly learned swording skills.

"Ah, look at you. Practically ready to become a Knight of Camelot," Merlin smiles, ruffling the boy's hair.

Gwydre takes a seat on the floor, cross-legged beside Merlin's chair as he absently traces the designs on the toy. "Merlin?" he says, and the name is a question.

"Yes?"

"Can you tell me the story again?"

Merlin sits back in his chair and looks down at the boy, answering the question with another even though he's sure he knows its answer: "Which one?"

"Tell me how you and Father met."

Merlin's seemingly ever-present smile is a wistful one now as he leans back in his chair and looks up at the ceiling. "Well . . . let's see. Your grandfather was a good King, Gwydre. But he was just a bit . . . lost in some ways. But I suppose we all are."

Gwydre leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

"I came to Camelot almost fifteen years ago. And I suppose I was a little lost, too. Because you see, magic wasn't allowed in those days. I wasn't allowed to be who I was. And that was tricky.

"But just as you know that one day you will be King, my future became set in stone, too; right before my eyes. A wise Dragon told me that my future was intertwined with that of the Prince of Camelot--your father--and that his belonged in mine."

Gwydre smiles. "This is the good part."

"Oh, yes." Merlin grins. "When I met your father, he was a complete and utter--"

" _Prat_!" Gwydre finishes enthusiastically, and Merlin laughs.

"Exactly. We absolutely hated each other. I picked a few arguments with him at first--and that was my mistake. I got locked in the dungeons, thrown in the stocks--"

"Rotten tomatoes," Gwydre comments with a grimace.

"--And somehow, despite all that, I managed to get myself appointed to be his manservant. I did all his laundry, made his bed, prepared his meals, cleaned his room . . . and most of the time, he just picked on me."

"Father calls you a bumpkin," Gwydre says, giggling behind his hand as if the statement were some kind of little secret, and speaking it was his own little rebellion.

"I'm sure he does," Merlin replies with a roll of his eyes, "Anyway, as time went on, I realized that maybe the Prince wasn't such an ar--such a _mean person_ after all. We became very close, though he wouldn't admit it. He knows--he knew me better than anyone."

"Why?"

"Because he saved my life. Many times. And risked his own to save the people of Camelot. Without your father, Camelot would not be standing today."

"But you saved him, too," says Gwydre, as he knows the story by heart.

"Mmm," Merlin agrees, nodding, "That's true. But what your father did for me was give me a purpose for my magic. To use it in a way that would benefit not just him or me, but the whole kingdom."

"But father didn't know."

"No, he couldn't find out. Not at the beginning, anyway."

Gwydre nods knowingly. "And _then_ . . . ?"

"And then . . . one day, I had to. One day, Arthur was in grave danger on the battlefield, and I had to make a choice. So I saved his life, and I used magic, right in front of him."

"Father was angry," Gwydre says sadly.

Merlin frowns at the memory. "Yes, he was. We didn't speak for months. Arthur no longer trusted me. And then one day Guinevere--your mother, was in peril, and your father was ready to embark on a journey to save her alone. I wasn't about to let him do _that_."

"Father says you're stubborn."

"Not as stubborn as him," Merlin retorts flatly before continuing his story, "So I followed him. He was angry with me about that, too, until he realized he needed me. His strength and my magic saved your mother. And then Arthur began to realize that magic isn't always bad. That it's only as good or bad as the sorcerer who controls it."

"And then what happened?"

"As if you don't already know," Merlin says playfully. "I stood by his side, as I always had, and I helped him to become the greatest leader this Kingdom has ever known. He helped make Camelot a place in which everyone can belong, in which being who you are is never something to be ashamed of. He is selfless, courageous, and just. And he is a good man. A good person--to his people, to his family, to his knights. To me." Merlin closes his eyes, smiling softly. "And I have never been prouder of him."

"You care about father lots, don't you?"

"Yes. I love him very much." The words slip out before he can control them, and Merlin finds himself blushing. The little boy is, of course, oblivious to it all as he replies,

"And then we all lived happily ever after!"

"Yes," Merlin says, grateful for a change of subject, "Arthur married your mother, and then you came along. The gods only know what I'd do without you, Gwydre. I wouldn't have anything to clean up around here without you mucking about."

Gwydre giggles.

"Want to know a secret, though?" Merlin asks, leaning forward. Gwydre moves closer in anticipation. ". . . I think sometimes he's still as much of a prat as ever."

Gwydre grins, and Merlin stands up, swoops Gwydre up onto his back and spins him round as the boy clutches onto his shoulders and lets out continual hoots of laughter. The sunshine outside seems to move with them as joyous rays cascade onto the hardwood floor, illuminating the shadows of the boy and his friend the wizard.

". . . And if this very moment is any indication, you're as much of a child as ever," says a voice.

Merlin whirls around to face King Arthur Pendragon, who is leaning in the doorway of the tower with his arms crossed. His expression is serious but it gives way to the sheer bemusement in his eyes.

"Your Highness," Merlin says, bowing low as Gwydre laughs and clambers off his back.

Arthur rolls his eyes and nudges Merlin's arm as he enters the room. "I keep telling you I hate it when you do that. It doesn't suit you."

"What; would you rather me go back to calling you a _clotpole_?" is Merlin's teasing reply, "I was only displaying proper conduct in front of your son."

"Don't fool yourself, Merlin; you wouldn't know what proper conduct was if it stood right in front of you and shook your hand."

Gwydre giggles wildly at the silly bickering between the two adults, and Arthur makes for a playful kick to his behind. " _You_ belong at dinner. Your mother is waiting. Go on."

Gwydre bows a bit as he's been taught to do, but his concentration breaks when he catches eye with Merlin, who gives him a wink. Gwydre laughs and waves happily before running off. Both men watch him go.

"So," Merlin says after a beat of silence, "How much of that conversation did you hear?"

"I heard enough," replies Arthur, but there is no bitterness in his tone.

Merlin looks down, a failed attempt to hide the blush slowly making its way to the apples of his cheeks. "He likes when I tell him stories," he explains dumbly, "and I suppose I got a bit carried away--"

"I already knew," Arthur interjects, and Merlin looks up at him with wide eyes.

And then Arthur leans forward, lightly brushing a finger against Merlin's face. "I _always_ knew."

They stay like that for a moment, a gentle breeze from outside brushing at their skin. Merlin leans into the touch of the fingers of Arthur and of the wind. It all ends abruptly, though, as Arthur clears his throat and says, "Guinevere is expecting me for dinner."

Merlin nods. "Of course."

"You're welcome to join us if you'd like."

Merlin smirks a bit despite the awkwardness of the moment. "Politeness, Arthur? Toward me? It doesn't suit you." But he says, all too quickly, "I think I'll stay here. I've got some work to do."

Arthur grins and reaches out to squeeze Merlin's arm lightly before heading out of the room. Merlin returns to his seat at his desk, scrawling on a piece of parchment--

"Merlin?"

He looks up to see that Arthur his still in the doorway, his back to him. "I'll always need you, you know." The words are full of emotion despite Arthur's attempt to hide it. "As an advisor and as . . . as someone who knows me better than anyone else. That won't ever change."

"I know, Arthur," Merlin replies quietly. "I know."

He hears Arthur's footsteps as their sound deteriorates until it is replaced with silence. They've both grown up so much, Merlin realizes, and as he thinks of Gwydre--sharp young Gwydre full of so much promise--he couldn't feel more proud of helping his Prince, now his King, create this new Camelot, a new family, a new kingdom.

Arthur knows. He's always known. And despite what Merlin thinks may never come of his feelings, Arthur's words are a promise.

 __

I'll always need you.

Arthur will always need Merlin, as Merlin will always need Arthur. Two sides of the same coin. Two halves of a whole.

This, Merlin knows, is always what matters in the end.


End file.
